


Horizon

by TheDruidIsIn



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Horror Fandom, Slasher Fandom - Fandom
Genre: ASL, American Sign Language, Autistic OC, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Jason Voorhees, Dark Humor, Exophilia, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Human/Spirit relationship, Human/Zombie relationship, Jason Signs, Jason Voorhees Needs a Hug, Jason chugs his 'I respect my wife' juice, Masks, Mute Jason Voorhees, Protective Jason Voorhees, Signing, Size Difference, Size Kink, Teratophilia, he's one of the most caring slashers, he's very protective of his wife okay, hoh oc, of course he's caring, selectively mute oc, that tag is almost insulting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28793742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDruidIsIn/pseuds/TheDruidIsIn
Summary: Sometimes, the impossible happens.
Relationships: Jason Voorhees/Original Female Character(s), Jason Voorhees/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings are as follows: TW for Emetophobia, TW for Pregnancy Mention, TW for Attempted Kidnapping, TW for Brief Mention of Medical Stuff
> 
> Title is inspired by the song Horizon by Luna Blake. Lyrics come from the same song.

…

Horizon

…

_You are sky and I am sea_

_You tower over me_

...

I clung to Jason, my face flush to the gray skin of his neck. The morning sun was peeking through the tattered curtains, drawing me into wakefulness. I wasn’t sure if Jason slept, but he stayed with me all night while I did. I stretched, arching my back and wriggling around. There was just a hint of nausea, but I ignored it in favor of basking in his presence. As my breasts pressed into his chest, his arm tightened around me.

“Good morning, Jason,” I whispered, kissing the crook of his neck.

In response, he rolled us over so that he could look down on me, bearing his weight on his arms to avoid crushing me. The wedding rings we wore on chains around our necks slid around, his dangling against his vast dove-gray chest and mine skittering down its chain to the side. They belonged to his parents, and neither one of us could fit the respective ring around our fingers (his being too big, and mine too small). Without conscious thought, my legs parted to make room for his enormous body. His size verily dwarfed me. I was hardly elfin and lithe as some people, and yet next to Jason I looked far more petite than if he were any other, far less massive, man. His hands were the size of my head, his fingers far thicker than my own. Jason had broad shoulders and broad hips, a solid build on a tall frame, barrel-chested with thick arms and legs. I had no idea how he found shoes to fit his truly impressive feet.

Jason’s head tilted and he shifted his weight so he could sign one-handed. “Good morning, Good.” It wasn’t my real name—who on earth would be named _Good_ , after all—but it was what he used as my name sign. That, or the sign for ‘Beautiful’ or ‘Flower’, often preceded by the first letter of my name, were his usual ways of referring to me. “Sleep well?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

He bent his neck to touch our foreheads together, the cool material of his mask chilling my skin. I felt warmer than usual, almost feverish, but besides that and the low-level nausea I was ignoring, I felt fine. His thumb stroked gingerly over my cheek for a moment before he pushed his mask up just enough to reveal what was left of his slightly lopsided mouth. He tilted my chin up then caught my lips with his own, slipping his abnormally wide tongue into my mouth. I could feel his hardness, almost as thick and long as my forearm, flirting with my labia, the tip already leaking precum. He drug his rough, calloused hand lightly over my face, tracing the contours of my body from the side of my head to my breast, then from there to my hip and thigh. He hefted my leg to wrap it around his waist, shuffled forward and fed himself into me inch by inch. As soon as the bulbous tip of his cock breached my outer folds and began to sink into me, a visible impression of it strained against my lower abdomen. The deeper he pressed the clearer the impression became.

He bottomed out before he reached half of his length. I bit my lip, inhaling sharply. Jason watched my face carefully, easing back out delicately. When he rolled his hips and bottomed out again, I wrapped my arms around his neck, fingers splayed over his impossibly broad back. I could feel both rippling muscle and the stark texture of bone underneath my palms. He slipped his hand between us to rub soft circles just above my clit. His speed would be torturous if not for the fact that his incredible girth and length meant that he stimulated me no matter what he did, whichever way he moved. I still didn’t know how he fit, how I took him. He rarely lasted as long as he wanted. I was so small, so tight, no matter how aroused purely due to our size difference.

Once he trusted himself not to rip me in half, he picked up his pace, though only slightly. It was fascinating to watch his progress, to _see_ how deeply his cock went. It kissed every sweet-spot, every inch. I closed my eyes, panting, as I started to come. The more I did, the more excited Jason got, and the less minute control of himself he had. He swallowed most of my moans, prodding gently at my tongue and teeth with his own tongue. By the time he was close, he only just held back from pounding into me. I would still be sore, I knew, but it would wear away in a few hours.

He gathered me closer so that one arm cradled me to his chest, then came with a shudder and a grunt. Jason finally broke the kiss to rest his forehead against mine again. He paused, silent as he took in everything. With his functional immortality and limitless energy, he didn’t particularly _need_ time to rest, to catch his breath, to slow a racing heartbeat. Any panting was due to excitement, and any pauses were so he could absorb the moment through every sense available to him in his usual quiet, contemplative way. When he finally got his bearings, he rolled over with me in his arms so that I lay across his vast body with his slowly softening cock still snuggly in place. He moved quickly enough that he didn’t give the wedding rings an opportunity to shift around much.

I almost drifted off to sleep again in the tranquil atmosphere, listening to the odd, slow beat of his heart in his chest—not fast enough to be healthy for a human, but not silent like the dead. An overwhelming surge of nausea interrupted my lassitude and I scrambled to get upright. Jason slid free from me with a small squelch, immediately sending a cascade of his cum down the inside of my legs. I almost landed face-first on the floor before I could right myself, then my legs nearly gave out underneath me. I stumbled to the door of the shack, threw it open with a fleeting thought of gratefulness for our lack of neighbors, and then squatted by the side of the porch, dry-heaving violently until acid came up. I spat it out with a grimace. Thudding footsteps reverberated behind me, then Jason was there offering me some of the bottled water we had stockpiled. Some of it came from the store in town when I ventured out for supplies, and some of it was pilfered from nearby residences or taken off of the trespassers he encountered.

I took the bottle gratefully and rinsed my mouth to remove the taste of acid, then sipped on it cautiously to avoid losing it, too. My nausea was not abating and I had no idea how long it would last. “Thank you, Jason,” I murmured, signing weakly with one hand.

“You’re welcome.” Jason’s concern bled through into the way he signed. “Are you sick?” He gently laid the back of his hand against my forehead as he finished speaking, but he was hardly the best judge of human temperature.

I shrugged one shoulder, setting the bottle into the crook of my arm to sign back to him. “Not sure.”

He hummed with distress, then came to some sort of conclusion. “You need rest.” He waited until I had the cap screwed back on the bottle, then gingerly lifted me into his arms—not as if I weighed nothing, which was his usual reaction, but as if I were made of the most delicate fine-China set. He laid me on the bed as carefully as he could, then tucked me underneath the blankets. He redressed, pulling on the new set of clothes I bought for him. “Be back soon with food.”

He picked up his machete from where it rested by the fireplace and left, closing the door behind him. I rolled over and curled into a ball, hand on my stomach. I did feel more tired and weak than was usual, but I wasn’t sure where I would have picked up a bug—not unless some of the supplies and gifts Jason brought back were contaminated. It wasn’t as if it would have made him ill, since he was, as far as I could tell, an undead and immortal revenant zombie.

I stayed in the same position, drifting in and out of a light doze, until he returned sometime later with two rabbits in snares. He set about skinning and cleaning them as I lay in bed, refusing my offer of help. As he started to cook the meat over the open flame of the fireplace, the scent of it wafted over to me and my already heightened sense of nausea rose to new levels. I twisted my upper body off of the bed and only narrowly missed heaving what little I had on my stomach—the water from earlier—onto the wooden planks. The bitter-sour tang of acid filled the air. Jason immediately set the meat to the side and came to me, rubbing my back and peering at me with obvious worry through the eyes of his mask.

“I’m okay,” I told him with a shaky hand. “The smell made me feel sick again.”

He tilted his head at me, then turned slowly to look at the meat. He was as confused as I was. We both knew how much I enjoyed well-roasted rabbit meat, or rabbit stew, or even rabbit sliders if we had a bit of bread. Perhaps as helpfully as earlier, I shrugged and flashed the sign for a cracker. Jason got a box from the kitchen, and that was my go to meal for the moment. Jason decided to cook the meat outside on a spit, while I huddled under the covers with my crackers. I managed to keep it down when he brought it to me, and eventually, with the help of the crackers, my stomach settled. I still slept for most of the day, and instead of patrolling, Jason stayed by my side in bed, cradling me to his chest.

The nausea returned fresh the next morning, bright and early and altogether worse than before. It came every other morning that week as well, setting a worrying trend. On Saturday morning, after a week of vomiting at the slightest provocation and the preceding persistent nausea as soon as I woke up, I realized something that would have been glaringly obvious had I not been married to Jason, who was a little less than human now.

I hadn’t had my period yet. A month had passed since the last one, and it hadn’t come again. I couldn’t be sure how many days late I was, since I had no way to track my ovulation, but—well, it _fit_ now, didn’t it? No period in sight, and all of the nausea and vomiting as soon as I woke up had to be morning sickness.

I stared down at my hands, at the paths on my palms. How could this have happened? This should, frankly, be impossible. Jason wasn’t even _human_. Not anymore, anyway. He used to be at one point in time, but now he was something else entirely—a living ghost inhabiting its bones, a memory given flesh, the embodiment of a curse, all of it, none of it, _something,_ but _not_ someone capable of impregnating anyone. That was the sole reason we never used protection. We didn’t bother because Jason was, well, _Jason_ , aka undead. The odds in favor of this had to be astronomical, and yet…

_This is fucking crazy. It can’t be real. I need to be sure_.

My shoulders slumped as I realized the only way to _really_ know for sure would be to go into town and buy a pregnancy test. If the test came back positive, I’d need to visit the free clinic at Wessex County Medical Center. More, I would have to muster the energy and do all of this _alone_. It’s not as if Jason could waltz through town, not with being an undead revenant zombie and not with his terrorizing anyone who crossed the boundaries onto his territory. The sight of him would cause untold terror to anyone we came across, and assisting me would be the furthest thing from any sane human’s mind.

I sighed, then slowly sat up in bed. Jason, who lay besides me, instantly sat up with me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I bit my lip. “I need to go to town.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Why? You’re sick.”

I tried to look as reassuring as possible despite my nerves. “Town has a pharmacy.”

“You go for medicine?”

Internally, I winced. “Yes, and other things.”

“I want to go with you.” His shoulders slumped before he voiced the hard truth we both knew. “But I can’t.” Never had Jason sounded so mournful about not being able to go into town with me and walk amongst the other humans.

I nudged him lightly and laid my head against his chest. “It’s okay.”

He cuddled me to his chest for five minutes or so, then reluctantly let me pull away to get ready. I showered using a bit of peppermint shampoo—not something I would have gone out of my way to use, but rather something Jason brought back for me on one of his many excursions. Sometimes it came from an unfortunate trespasser, largely anyone who crossed into our land just to fuck around and get high, anyone who tried reestablishing or reopening the camp, or anyone moving in nearby too close for his comfort. Other times he simply stole from houses along the borders of his expansive territory. He often brought back other things—sugar and salt, money, gasoline, bread—from them as well.

When I got out, instead of grabbing the first set of clean clothes I found, I sifted through to find an outfit that still looked relatively new and polished, nothing fancy but nothing worn, faded, or torn. I didn’t want to wear anything that broadcasted that I lived out in the woods—and especially not at Camp Crystal Lake, which was technically closed to the public for, erm, _safety_ reasons—or to assume that I was homeless. Both conclusions would just cause untold annoyances for me. I laced up a pair of black athletic shoes that I bought during one of my forays into town, shouldered a small pack with a water canteen and snacks, and stepped onto the porch where Jason sat sharpening a wooden pole to a deadly point for one of his pitfall traps.

When I first started living with him, he’d taken me around to show me where each hidden trap lay so I could avoid them. Once he was comfortable with my knowledge of their locations, he started teaching me how to set my own. Jason dropped the pole he held on top of a neat pile accumulating nearby alongside a pile of snares that we regularly set to catch rabbits and other small game. He dusted himself off and stood, turning to face me so he could speak. Despite not being able to see his facial expressions, which really were such an integral part of ASL to the extent that we had to modify a few signs to avoid miscommunication, his concern shone through once more. 

“I want to carry you,” Jason started, “to the camp, and to the road.”

I blinked in surprise, though I really shouldn’t have been shocked. He knew as well as I how much I had been sleeping lately. Not to mention the fact that I’d felt awful for days on end. Whether or not that was due to a once in history supernatural pregnancy was another thing.

“Okay.”

He swept me into his arms, as careful as ever, and set out toward the main camp. He held me high and close, just under his neck, so that there was no chance of snagging me on any prickly underbrush. I laid my head on his shoulder, pressing soft kisses to his neck intermittently. Once we reached the outskirts of the main camp, we checked the spot I usually stashed my bike, Jason patiently waiting while I checked it over to make sure it was still in working order.

I gave Jason a thumbs’-up, tacking on, “It’s fine,” for emphasis. He seemed reluctant to let me go, bundling me up in a fierce hug as if sensing that something was amiss, but eventually with enough encouragements and reassurances, he let me go. I mounted my bike with a mental reminder to pace myself since I would be riding quite a distance under my own power and had to conserve my energy. Jason followed me until my tires found the camp entrance. As I peddled away, he stood watching me before a bend in the road obscured me from his sight.

The road from Camp Crystal Lake into town was deserted, without a single soul in sight. I didn’t encounter anyone for miles on end. The wind tried picking up my hair as I rode, but thankfully I’d braided it to my scalp in two thick French braids so I didn’t end up with a windswept bird’s nest before I got a chance to get down to business. Between the brisk breeze and the ambient temperature, I also felt thankful to past-me for donning a jacket, beanie, and scarf. It was hardly close to a winter chill as we eased into spring, but it was enough to pink my cheeks and redden my nose.

As soon as I hit town limits, I made a beeline for Main Street, slowing when Walton’s Pharmacy came into my line of sight. I locked my bike up outside before ducking in through the side door and shuffling awkwardly toward the ‘Family Planning’ section with a shopping basket swinging from my arm. It seemed to take forever to find what I came to town to buy, and when I did I grabbed three boxes of tests just to be sure. I stopped by the freezer section to grab a few bottled waters (I didn’t think my canteen would really be enough to serve the purpose I had in mind), but I didn’t bother with anything else. We had recent supplies and cash helpfully provided by a group of amateur hikers that stumbled onto the camp after following an old trail from the southern side of the lake*, and we really didn’t need food considering the fact that we subsisted largely off of Jason’s hunting and my own foraging and gardening.

I paid for everything at the front counter, succeeding in making polite small-talk with the bored teen behind the counter who politely said nothing about my purchases or the fact that I immediately went to the bathroom to use them. Once I read the instructions for the tests, which I chose because they seemed to be the simplest since I didn’t have to dip them into a cup or use a dropper, waiting was the worst part. I must have been in the bathroom for the better part of an hour, testing and then retesting until I’d used most of them and drank two bottles of water. I felt lightheaded, and didn’t dare drink much more without worries of poisoning myself, which would be monumentally stupid with or without a possible pregnancy. Could someone die from urinating too much, though? Was that possible, death by pee?

I stared miserably at the plastic bag containing the empty plastic bottles, boxes stuffed full of discarded wrappers, and a small mound of used pregnancy tests, all of which were showing as positive. Well then. The impossible was, apparently, _not_ so impossible. I glanced down at the gentle curve of my abdomen, which had never been perfectly flat anyhow, but which would certainly still morph into the classic telltale shape and protuberance stereotypical to pregnant women the world over. My hand fluttered awkwardly over my middle before tentatively settling there, my fingers splayed as I worried my bottom lip between my teeth and mentally prepared myself for going to the walk-in clinic as planned if the test came back positive.

I jumped when someone knocked on the door, jarring me from my thoughts.

“Hey, Miss?” It was the young teen from earlier. They sounded genuinely concerned for me as they audibly shuffled their weight from foot to foot. It was a bit touching. “You okay in there? It’s been awhile. You haven’t hurt yourself, have you? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

Startled, I parted my lips, licking them as I recomposed myself and blinked away a few unexpected tears that gathered in the corner of my eyes. Raising my voice, I called, “Uh, yeah, I’m okay, thanks. You don’t need to call anyone. I’ll be out in a minute.”

A beat of silence passed before they replied. “Okay then.”

I waited until I heard their retreating footsteps, then exhaled wearily. I stuffed the plastic bag of evidence into my pack, too embarrassed to throw away the lot in the small bathroom bin. I unlocked the door and left before the teen could worry any more, then waved at them as I hurried back outside to maintain what little bit of my dignity I hadn’t left on the bathroom floor. So preoccupied with my thoughts, I nearly bypassed my bike completely. I doubled back for it, then rode directly to Wessex County Medical Center.

Stepping inside a mercifully mostly-unoccupied lobby of the clinic, I waited in line behind three others. As my turn came, the receptionist handed me a clipboard, pen, and small stack of fairly standard-looking intake forms, which I took to my seat. I pushed a few wisps of hair that came loose from my braids behind my ears, reading over the paperwork line by line and filling in as much of the requested information as I dared provide. I then huddled nervously in the far corner of the waiting room until a doctor—a plump, matronly woman by the name of Doctor Eileen Grant with an easy smile and kind eyes—escorted me to one of the exam rooms. I fidgeted awkwardly as I tactfully skirted around most of her questions, though there were a few I simply couldn’t avoid, mostly the ones verifying my sexual history and relationship status.

“I do apologize, but we have to verify this with every patient. Current number of sexual partners, dear?”

“One.”

“Relationship Status?”

“Married.”

Doctor Grant nodded as she double-checked that against my intake form. “I see that on your form you wanted us to perform a clinical pregnancy test, Mrs. Smith?”

I was just thankful that Smith was such a genuinely common surname in my country that no one would bat an eye if I ‘borrowed’ it. It’s not like I could tell them I was Mrs. Voorhees. Reluctantly, my numb fingers uncurled from around a positive test—one that I kept out for my visit—swaddled in my handkerchief. I unwrapped it and held it out to her. “Yes. I used a home test after I missed my period and it came back positive.”

She glanced at the pink bars and jotted a few things down in her notes. “Well, we’ll just need to take a urine sample to confirm. We want to ensure it’s not a false positive.”

I nodded mutely. “Sure, and do you mind going ahead and taking the blood sample? I’m—I’m just pretty sure the urine test will be positive.”

The elderly doctor paused to consider my request. “We typically wait for the UPT diagnosis, but I don’t see why not.”

She took the blood sample herself without any fanfare, then handed me a cup for the urine sample. Internally, I genuinely questioned whether I’d be able to pee again after my insane series of self-testing, but returned from the bathroom victoriously to pass the sample off as delicately as possible. Doctor Grant accepted it with one gloved hand, scribbled something on a label and then slapped the label onto the sample cup. On her way out, she patted my upper arm. “I’m sure everything will be alright, dear.”

The door closed behind her with a click and I was left to my own devices. Unable to sit still, I paced back and forth, stomach twisting with more than morning sickness. What if it was a false positive? But—wouldn’t that be absurd, for it to be false twenty odd times? What if something unusual showed up in the results? Would they be able to tell that the pregnancy was, in some regards, cross-species? I tried and failed not to get caught up in my anxieties during the ten-minute wait, wringing my hands until I heard returning footsteps.

I quickly sat down, crossed my ankles, and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket, all the while trying to appear far less panicked than I did on the inside. The same doctor from before entered the room, and something about her demeanor radiated calming reassurance. Doctor Grant closed the door behind herself, turning to beam at me. “Congratulations, Mrs. Smith,” she told me warmly, completely and utterly sincere in her deliverance. “The UPT we ran conclusively indicates early pregnancy. The results of the blood test, however, will take another two to three days to return.”

I gave her a wobbly smile in return. “Thank you.”

“Of course dear. Would you like a sonogram as well?”

I froze mid-adjustment of my beanie. “I—”

Blushing and floundering for an answer, Doctor Grant jumped in to help me. “It wouldn’t take long, and it would help us determine fetal age.”

My throat felt suddenly too dry, my pulse skyrocketing. “Don’t—don’t I need to be further along for that to work?”

Doctor Grant shook her head. “Not for a transvaginal sonogram. This early in a pregnancy, it would generally be done to tell us—and you, of course—approximately how far you are in your pregnancy.”

Seeing my reluctance, uncertainty, and dazed anxiety, she added with no small amount of compassion, patience, and grace, “It doesn’t have to be today, dear. You can always have it done when you come back for your blood test results in three days, but you should know that there are no risks and it won’t hurt.” 

I released a breath I had no idea I’d been holding. With some of the pressure relieved, it felt far less daunting. “Okay. Let’s just get it over with, then.”

The matronly woman sent me one of her bright, gentle, thousand-watt reassuring smiles and went to get the equipment. I stared at a mark on the linoleum until she came back with the apparatus.

“I’ll need you to take off your trousers and lie back on the exam table with your hips slightly raised, Mrs. Smith. I have a sheet for your privacy, if you prefer.”

She turned to start setting things up while I toed out of my shoes and shimmied out of my jeans, the cold bite of the floor felt even through my wool socks. I picked up the drape that she’d provided and delicately climbed onto the frigid table, positioning the small preserver of my modesty over my lap. With things set up, Doctor Grant explained a few other things for my benefit, holding up the transducer—a thick, wand-like object that she’d already covered with a protective latex sleeve and smothered in lubricant—in my line off sight. Her calmness soothed my anxiety, making it so I could lay still with little squirming as she conducted the exam.

Once I relaxed enough to notice how painless—if weird, given the pressure and odd sensation of someone rotating a wand in my vagina—the procedure actually was, I relaxed completely, allowing my head to loll to the side. Doctor Grant adjusted the monitor and position of the transducer with practiced ease. I idly wondered how many pregnant women she’d assisted during her career. Certainly enough that she could act as casually as if she were discussing the weather.

“Mm,” she hummed. “This just supports the results of your UPT. I’d say you’re about two weeks along, maybe three. I only see one fetus, and as far as I can tell there are no glaring abnormalities and the fetus is developing where it should be. In fact, everything seems in order. You both look healthy.”

The exam lasted a few more minutes, with the whole thing amounting to about twenty in total. At the end, as I redressed, Doctor Grant went over to the desk and opened one of the drawers, rooting through until she came up with a few different pamphlets. “Here’s a bit of literature on what to expect. There are resources as well—a FAQ that addresses common concerns and misconceptions, a list of tips and tricks to alleviate common discomforts, a list of support groups and helplines, contact information for OBGYN’s in the area, and a few suggested sources for further information.”

I took the pamphlets she gave me without a glance, thanked her with my cheeriest smile as I stowed them in my pack, and left the clinic. During the ride back to camp, I could scarcely think of anything other than my two most pressing concerns—what I would tell Jason, and what I would bloody well _do._

...

\|/

...

The truck had been following me for half of the journey. I tried not to panic, already frazzled from my rather eventful day. Finding out that I had a half-human half-revenant-zombie hybrid growing inside of me was enough, but now there was some creep in a beat up Ford following me and all but up my ass? It was like the universe had a rather interesting sense of humor, one that would get just about anyone else a swift kick in the nuts. I peddled slightly faster but not at my fastest, internally warring between pacing myself and getting the _fuck_ away from that weirdo as fast as possible.

I could feel the beginning of my energy flagging and didn’t want to accelerate the process. I weighed my options without sparing a glance for my tail. Since he hadn’t tried to run me off the road or just straight up run me over yet, I decided to pace myself to save my energy, dropping back to my original intensity. For all I knew he wanted me to panic and try to outrun him so I’d get tired and then either be forced to stop or to go even slower than I currently was. The last thing I needed was to lose steam before I could get back to the safety of Crystal Lake and Jason, where my caring, protective, immortal and insanely strong husband could protect me.

I nearly wept with relief when the first Camp Crystal Lake sign came into view, marking the path that led to the main campgrounds. A wave of intense emotion slammed into me as I took the turnoff, the road switching from asphalt to dirt and gravel. With the end in sight I threw pacing to the wind and bolted, feeling a new, heightened sense of panic when I heard the truck follow me off-road, its speed increasing ever-so-slightly. The driver honked and yelled something indistinguishable, which only spurred on my efforts. I came upon the half mile mark, putting on a second burst of speed fueled by a combined spike of fear and adrenaline.

The truck gained on me then, the driver apparently throwing restraint to the wind. I veered onto a footpath hidden amongst the underbrush, one Jason often used, to lose my pursuer. The terrain would slow me down even though my bike was intended for off-road use, simply because the forest provided plenty of obstacles to speed. It would also, however, prevent the man hot on my heels from overtaking me in his truck. There was a chance that he might leave his vehicle to chase me, but I would still have an advantage even if I was forced to dismount. I was fast, knew the terrain better, and had far better motivation than he did.

Unfortunately for me, he seemed rather determined and willing to take that chance. Behind me the truck screeched to a halt. A few precious seconds passed as if he were sitting in his cab deliberating, then the door opened, a male voice cursing as the driver got out to follow on foot. I followed the trail as it rounded outward then twisted sharply to double back, not stopping despite the stitch in my side. I pushed through the pain, gritting my teeth and panting with exertion. _Almost there._

The trail ended abruptly, opening onto the campgrounds by one of the cabins. I dismounted without coming to a complete stop, nearly stumbling but able to keep my footing. As quickly and quietly as I could, I led my bike to its hiding place, then hurried across camp to disappear into the surrounding woods. I almost made it when a hand shot out and grabbed me.

I spun, aiming a kick at the shin and groin of the unfamiliar man. He swore and let go of me to avoid being hit, but seemed intent on speaking to me nonetheless. “What the fuck are you doing here?” the stranger snarled. “Are you insane, girl?”

_Girl_? I was a grown-ass woman, thank you very much! My lip curled with distaste, but I hardly counted semantics as the greatest of my worries at the moment. After all, there was some deranged fuckwit trying to manhandle me. “None of your fucking business,” I spat back. “Why the fuck did you follow me, you sick creep?!”

The man stepped closer to me even as I backed away from him in response. “Don’t you know where you are? We’re in Camp Blood, Missy. This place is cursed. Do you have a death wish?”

Just then, a twig snapped in the woods closest to us, and the man paled, freezing until a squirrel ran out with an acorn clamped in one cheek. He lunged for me again, grasping desperately at the sleeve of my jacket. “Why don’t you leave with me, hmm, sweetheart? You’ll be nice and safe with ole Rodney.”

I danced out of his reach, hoping against hope that Jason was nearby. The strange man, Rodney, claimed to offer the role of protector, likely for a price I wasn’t willing to pay, but even if I had incentive to leave, who knew what his real reason for taking me away would be? Even if he did only want to get the hell away from Crystal Lake, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t hurt me. Besides, _I_ was safe. This was my _home_ , and Jason would never hurt me—not that this guy knew that.

He bared his teeth at me. “Are you stupid? Come on already. Let’s beat it, and maybe I can even show you a good time, hmm?”

A wave of revulsion at the suggestion hit me. I skipped a few steps further then attempted to bolt again, only to have him pounce far swifter than before. “You’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”

Mercifully he didn’t try anything then and there. Instead, he tried to haul me toward the direction of his parked truck, only to turn face-first into Jason, who appeared suddenly from around the corner of a cabin. His next—and last—coherent utterance dissolved into a wordless shout of terror as Jason grabbed him by the neck with a furious growl and wrenched him away from me. He tossed Rodney bodily toward a nearby tree, which the man crashed into then crumpled into a pained heap at its base. Before he could do more than raise shakily onto his hands and knees, Jason was on him again, stomping on his knees to hobble him then sending him flying back into the tree with a kick to his chest that resulted in an audible crunch. The sound foretold of broken or crushed ribs. 

Rodney rolled onto his side wheezing and coughing up blood. Jason gave him a temporary reprieve as he turned to me, lightly touching my cheek. His hands trembled with barely suppressed fury as he signed. “Good, did he hurt you?”

I shook my head. “No, but he scared me, and he grabbed me….” I paused, then the rest came flooding out in a flurry of upset signs as everything hit me and the tears started to fall. “ _And followed me with his truck, and threatened me, and tried to kidnap me….”_

If Jason were an anime character, he would have shark-teeth animation and flames in his eyes. “He dies,” he immediately signed feelingly.

I couldn’t think of a suitable protest, not one that would soothe his current discontent with the man. I winced internally with sympathy, but there was nothing that would change Jason’s mind about Rodney, no redeeming quality. It was enough that Rodney had trespassed, but Jason coming upon someone clearly terrorizing his wife would always set him off on a bloody rampage against the threat. Not to mention the fact that Rodney had managed to both pissed me off astronomically— no doubt an aggression tripled by fear— _and_ caused me untold levels of anxiety that couldn’t possibly be good for my newly discovered pregnancy.

Oh god. _The pregnancy._

One hand fluttered awkwardly to my stomach, which for the moment looked the same as it always did. I wasn’t showing, _yet_ , but that wouldn’t ease Jason’s upset toward Rodney. Not that anything could have saved him at this point anyway. He came onto our land and threatened me. Even without knowledge of the pregnancy, Jason would show him no mercy. “Okay.”

I hugged myself as Jason stormed over to Rodney, who had attempted to crawl away while Jason was distracted with me. My lip curled in disdain for the second time that day. Real chivalrous of him if he genuinely thought I was murder-bait. I guess he was more concerned with himself the entire time, as I suspected. Why else would he follow me long before I arrived at camp? He probably planned to jump me as soon as I got home, but I surprised him by coming _here_. Then he tried to convince me to leave with him in his truck. No doubt if I had been someone else, I would be the one disappearing today, along with our unborn child.

Jason let him gain a few more inches before he reached down to slowly start crushing him joint by joint: wrists, elbows, ankles, hips, all methodically shattered. His screams and sobs filled the air until Jason grew impatient with himself and simply snapped Rodney’s neck. In the ensuing silence, it occurred to me that Jason usually took no pleasure in killing. He performed it almost as if it were his duty, methodically and thoroughly, but he never got anything out of it besides fulfilling his mother’s dying wish and taking out bloody vengeance on all outsiders who set foot there. Jason wasn’t particularly vindictive or cruel by nature. It was strange for him to, well, _play_ with his kill unless he thought they deserved it in some sense.

Jason caved in his head for good measure, then calmly walked over to me, already signing. “I will take Good home then come back for this one.”

I stopped him with a raised hand. “Wait, Jason.”

He paused, head tilted in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Perhaps comically to anyone who could have witnessed some of his more brutal slayings, he fiddled nervously with the hem of his shirt as if he were a shy schoolboy, then signed with an abashed and uncertain air, “Did I do something wrong? Did I scare Good?”

The thought apparently troubled him deeply.

I shook my head. “No.” I rolled my lip between my teeth as I signed absentmindedly, “I am thinking.”

Jason gave me a few moments to gather my thoughts. He waited patiently, if expectantly. He clearly wanted to reach out and touch me but was concerned that would upset me. It was cute. _He_ was cute. I smiled lovingly at him, feeling as my features softened when I looked at him. “There’s no need to worry,” I began. “I am unhurt, but I have something to tell you.” I hesitated, unsure of the phrasing I wanted to use without just blurting out that I was pregnant with no lead up to the news. I finally settled on, “I am fine, and Little Good is fine, too.”

Jason tended to sign more slowly when confused, just as he signed more quickly when emotional. “Little Good?” His curiosity was plain as day.

I unzipped my pocket, fingers closing around that single used test I kept aside for the doctor. I showed it to Jason as I had to her, holding it out to him. Given that he’d spent nearly all of his first and second life divorced from all civilization, Jason clearly had no idea what it was, picking it up curiously to examine it. I let him, watching as he turned it this way and that with no real idea of what it meant. He knew what pregnancy was (he lived in the woods and got front-row seats to the circle of life, so how could he not?), but he confirmed my suspicion that he’d never seen a human pregnancy test before. I got his attention again after a minute or so of his investigation.

“See the lines?” I let him nod before continuing. “That means there is a Little Good inside of me. It means there will be a baby, one day, if we let it grow.”

Jason froze for a single, infinite moment, staring at the test. Then he met my gaze, his hands all but tripping over each other in his rush to speak. “Little Good? A child? A baby?” The inquiries jumbled together into a nonsense sentence, but I understood nonetheless.

“Yes, like the deer we saw.” I was referring to the clearly pregnant doe that Jason refused to kill last year. Between it and the one lost, heavily pregnant woman and her young child that he let leave without incident, it was obvious that he would never harm an expectant mother or a child.

Without warning, Jason swept me off my feet and spun me around. He set me down gently, his signs bubbly with an eruption of giddy joy. He eagerly sought confirmation. “Good is pregnant?”

His infectious jubilation swept me up in its embrace. I beamed at him. “Yes, Good is pregnant.” The oddness of referring to myself in third person aside, it was still a phrase I never expected to say. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it and what was to come, but Jason’s emotions were clear to see despite the very literal mask obscuring his facial features.

Jason immediately scooped me into his arms, apparently intent on getting me home before someone else could come crashing into our space to interrupt the moment. I relaxed into his chest, eyes suddenly heavy as all of the exertion and excitement of the day caught up to me. I snuggled into him, smelling peppermint body wash intermingled with wood smoke and forest scents. The motion of being carried by him lulled me into a light doze that lasted until we reached the cabin, where I felt Jason struggling to undress me on the porch to check me over for ticks. I sat up to help him, gently pushing his hands away and discarding everything in a heap by the door.

The world swam as a wave of dizziness overcame me and I swayed, leaning against the wall for support as Jason ran his fingers lightly over my skin, checking all the usual hiding spaces for the little bloodsuckers until he was satisfied that I hadn’t picked up one of them. He helped me inside, staying with me even when I reached the shower. There he discarded his own clothes and climbed in with me. It disconcerted me to be so weak that I could barely wash myself, but I feebly washed what I could while Jason washed the rest, then himself. He patted me dry and then carried me bodily to our bedroom, where he laid me on our bed.

I pushed myself so that the pillows elevated me somewhat, catching his hand before he could don another outfit and go back to take care of Rodney’s body. When he looked at me I hesitantly extended my hand to brush my fingers along the edge of his mask. I’d seen his face sparingly before, but I wanted to look at him again without something interfering with the view. “Let me see again.” When he hesitated, I added, “Please.”

Jason reluctantly lifted his hands to remove the mask. My fingers traced over the long scars from when those people gave him a head wound. His complexion—dove gray, pallid as a corpse—stood out as a stark contrast to mine. “There you are,” I whispered, smiling softly. He closed his eyes, completely at ease with me. He tentatively rested his hand on my bare abdomen, laying his head there and kissing it softly. The flutter of his lips tickled a bit, but I held still, letting him shower his trail of butterfly kisses over the vulnerable skin. The almost shy but pleased way he glanced at me, sneaking peeks as he nosed into my stomach and nuzzled against it with his cheek, warmed me. Jason was clearly taking the news well, if not outright thrilled by it.

He trailed his nose further down until he hovered just shy of the apex of my thighs, flesh to flesh. His tongue—thick, seeking—pushed at the hood of my clit, digging in gently to get at the sensitive bud sheathed within. Without conscious thought my legs parted to grant him better access. He laid one of his large palms flat against my upper thigh, while his cheekbones grazed my inner thighs. Gingerly, he took my clit between his lips, suckling and swirling over it as his fingers eased into me. My body jerked at the sensation. It had been a week since Jason really had the opportunity to touch me. I’d been so nauseous in the mornings, and often late at night, but _now,_ apparently, presented the perfect opportunity for him.

Jason curled his fingers to hit that one spot that always made my legs tremble, then set a measured pace, driving in past the second knuckle. When he felt me—rather rapidly—getting wet enough, he added a second then third finger. His fingers were far larger than any man I’d ever known, as was his tongue (and, undoubtedly, his cock, not that I had much to compare it to). He coaxed me steadily toward an orgasm, continuing straight through the twitching of my muscles until I lay in the afterglow of it. Then, as if I were made of the most priceless crystal set, he picked me up and turned me so that when he set me down, I was on my stomach. My brows wrinkled in confusion as Jason gently lifted my hips and spread my legs further. Odd. Usually Jason preferred to see my face when we were intimate, even if he kept on his mask.

I didn’t understand until his enormous hands cupped my tummy from behind as he slid into me.

_Oh_.

He wanted to be able to be close to both of us, to touch his—our—potential future child, assuming all went well and I carried to term, though I cringed at the alternative of a miscarriage. How exactly would I stop a half-revenant pregnancy even if I wanted to? _Could_ I? How long would it last? So many questions flitted through my mind, questions I filed away for later to enjoy the touch of my husband. 

The front of Jason’s sturdy thighs pressed into the back of mine as he sunk into me as far as possible, bottoming out inside of me. My hand once more fluttered to my stomach, this time pressing into the outline of his cock with the thought that this, _this_ had created our predicament. His fingers, still somewhat coated in my arousal, sought out mine, linking our hands together as he thrust rather more slowly than normal, his chest flush to my back and his chin on my shoulder.

Jason was savoring this, I realized, savoring it more than usual. Basking in my presence, in our connectedness. The thought of losing not only me but _more_ , likely the thought of his seed taking root in my womb, of the realization of a life he never thought possible for himself, spurring him on and making him savor it all. I gripped his hands tighter, turning my head so I could kiss his arm. “I love you,” I said with my lips, knowing he could hear me even if he couldn’t respond at the moment. “Jason, my hero.”

Jason grunted, his mask cold against my shoulder. He clung to me, cradling me close by my tummy where the beginnings of a new life bloomed, unseen, not yet obvious. His thrusts might be slower, but they bit deeper, at a different angle with a different amount of force, as if he could touch the tiny kernel of the future if he only tried hard enough. I stayed on my hands and knees only through sheer willpower and Jason’s hold on me, trembling as a massive second orgasm trickled through me bit by bit, making my muscles spasm and my nerves twitch. By the time Jason came, between the influence of my previous exertion and my current wave of an impending bliss-out, I was near collapse. Jason rolled us to the side to avoid collapsing on top of me and crushing me. As we lay naked together in the afterglow, tawny fingers tracing patterns on dove-gray, I spoke softly into the silence. “If it’s a girl, we could always name her after your mother.” Jason’s arms tightened around me in response. “Her nickname could be Pam or Ella, or if it’s too painful to name her Pamela, maybe just Ella.”

Jason hummed in the way that meant ‘I am thinking’, not seeming displeased in the slightest, but merely caught up in his own musings, and perhaps, memories. The discussion didn’t proceed much further after that. I fell asleep in his arms with our clasped hands resting on my abdomen, at peace for the moment. My life might have gotten exponentially complicated in the last week, but at least I wouldn’t weather the storm alone. Jason would protect me, and we would get through it like we got through everything else.

Meanwhile, Rodney’s unfortunate corpse would just have to wait until his goddamn turn.

**Author's Note:**

> *that line was inspired by this amazing Jason Fan Film I watched on YouTube called Never Hike Alone. There's also a companion film for it, Never Hike in the Snow. I've watched those and two other fan films that I think feel more like canon than the last few "official" Friday The 13th movies, and occasionally I might reference them when writing my own stories. They certainly make a better addition to the Jason/Friday The 13th verse than Jason Takes Manhattan or Jason Goes To Hell.


End file.
